In which England and America learn how relationships don't work
by SamuraiSal1
Summary: Given that neither England nor America have had much experience with relationships, it's no surprise that they don't know the first thing about being in one. Sequel to 'In which England and America just have bad ideas, period.' USxUK, rated T for light cursing.


Like most things that have made the twenty-first century bearable, my evening started with a phone call from America. However, unlike most of the phone calls from the past several years, this one was set apart by one crucial factor.

America started off the conversation with, "Hey, darlin'!"

And while I'll normally detest any nickname he throws at me—either the nickname is overrated for what it's actually implying, or he's using absolutely no creativity—my heart did… _jump_, a bit. Nothing major, and it's not as if he'd done something too charming, per say, but hearing him greet me with a word like that almost made it hit home that we were actually… together.

"What is it, America?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Apparently I sounded harsher than I'd meant to be, because America clicked his tongue and replied with a cheeky, "Yikes, _someone's_ grouchy today. Seriously, I was calling to ask if you wanted to come by this weekend but if you're gonna be such a sourpuss I'm not sure if I wanna invite you!"

I sighed, absently tapping my fingers against the leather of the couch. "What did you have in mind _this_ time?"

"Geez, you really are in a bad mood! Seriously, that's like pathetic. You need to be excited or something. Live a little! C'mon, it'll be no fun without you!" America sounded mere inches away from whining, and I knew I had to intervene, lest whatever trip he had planned would be spoilt with certain childishness I'd been hoping to avoid.

"And what, exactly, were you planning?" I glanced down at the heavy book to my side, already starting to sink into the material of the couch. I had been planning to catch up on my reading this weekend, and I hadn't had a chance to refresh on Jane Austen's writing for quite some time.

"Weeeeeell," America drawled, purposely aggravating me. "It might be an all-expense-paid trip to Disney World, and it might also be a midnight showing of a movie they won't be releasing until next year, and maybe there's gonna be tea involved somehow, and maybe—"

"All expense paid, hm?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. And _pardon me_ if it sounded condescending, but really—America's economy was already bad enough, and it was making everyone else's bad, too. If I could help it, I was going to put a stop to any and all excessive spending. …Regardless of its perhaps _slightly_ charming intention. "Paid by whom?"

"That's—That's none of your concern," America said quickly, with that nervous laughter I'd long-since learned to associate with lying.

"Ah… I can't help but have hoped for something… perhaps a bit less extravagant. Last time didn't even go well… Honestly, shouldn't you be spending more money on your economy than your personal life?" Upon hearing the first sounds of denial, I hastily added, "Well, at any rate, I should hope it isn't _too_ expensive?" And then I realized that was implying that I'd be willing to go at all, and covered it up with a quick, "Not that I plan on accompanying you either way, I'm just curious."

He made that little huffing noise that he always made when he was pouting. Bollocks, I'd made him reasonably upset. "Yeah, well, that's just too bad. 'Cause if you're not going, then I'm not going, and then neither of us are going to enjoy it and that's just selfish."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to alleviate some of the pressure in my head. It was highly unfortunate that America could be so manipulative; it gave me headaches every single bloody time. "Don't pull that with me. I know what you're thinking," I muttered, before going into a (rather accurate, if I do say so myself) imitation of his voice: "Oh, England, _no_! You have to bend to my every whim and pay me attention every second of every day! England, notice me, can't you see what a cool hero I am?" I scoffed, then added (in my own voice), "Honestly, you prat. Perhaps I had plans of my own."

"That's—That's so mean! England, you can't honestly think I sound like that, right?!" America shouted into the phone, loud enough to aggravate my headache even further. And oh, I could just _see_ the face he was making—that horrid puppy-dog-pout, the one he always used to guilt people into doing what he wanted them to. But it was most certainly not going to work this time. Not on my watch.

"Just shut your bloody trap, idiot," I more grumbled than snapped. Not because I was starting to pity him for that seemingly-genuine distress at my imitation of his voice. Of course not. I was simply growing tired of his shenanigans, that was all. "And I'm still not going with you. Choose a different day, and tell me a more than a week ahead of time, and then we'll talk."

"But—"

"I said no, America."

"Well maybe I wanted to go with you because we haven't hung out for like a month. Didja think of that?" He asked, sounding almost hurt. "And maybe I wanted to spend time with you because that's what you're supposed to do in a relationship!"

"We're nations, love. We can't afford to just throw away our responsibilities willy-nilly, and perhaps I wanted to use what little free-time I had for my own purposes," I said. And as if I hadn't already said my peace, of course I had to add, "And perhaps I don't want to have a conventional relationship. Perhaps I want things to continue like this. Did you perhaps think of that?"

"England, it's not a relationship if we don't even spend time with eachother," America argued. "Look, it doesn't have to be anything expensive, we could just—"

"I already told you that I have no desire to go," I said firmly.

There was some rustling of fabric on the other end, and then a brief but evidently heartfelt, "You know what, forget you," before the phone-line went dead.

I eyed the phone a moment, not fully realizing that that _git_ had hung up on me until the beeping increased in volume and I was forced to hook it back in place. And then the disbelief set in and I realized, belatedly, that not only had he hung up on me, but he'd done so in a most _uncivilized_ manner.

Still, I had no plans to linger on the thought, and instead of moping about it, I simply walked back over to the couch and picked up my book, flipping it open to the page I'd been on.

No matter what that git was planning, he would not guilt-trip me into going with him, and that was final.

* * *

So perhaps final was more of a… a relative term. The last straw came when I reached the book's climax, when the male and female protagonists finally put aside their differences and entered a relationship. There was a sudden wave of… something akin to longing, really, and there was no doubt in my mind that I'd be boarding a plane that very day.

Mind you, I was still quite irritated with America, but… well, I suppose he hadn't _quite_ deserved that harsh of treatment. He was only trying to do something nice, however misguided. Or at least I hoped it was something nice. He seemed fairly genuine…

I shook off those thoughts before wandering, somewhat absently, into the living room. Upon pulling out my laptop, I started to search for a few plane tickets. It was, after all, necessary to make up in person. If I was to apologize for something, I'd do it right. It would be the most impressive apology America would ever receive, _that_ much I was sure of.

* * *

(Upon arriving in America, renting a taxi and driving all the way to America's home in New York, I was completely shattered and more than a bit annoyed with America's travel system. Given the way nations work, this contributed to me being more annoyed than necessary at America himself.

So, ahem, perhaps I was not in the _best_ state of mind for mending an argument, but at least I had an excuse, unlike that blasted American git whom, of course, had to do his best to irritate me.

The scene that follows is completely unedited, and if Alfred tells you otherwise, he's lying. I swear it. Gentleman's honor and all that.)

* * *

I rapped my knuckles on the door once, twice, three times, and waited patiently for America to answer. When he didn't, I said, in a most polite manner, "America, open the door this instant! It's cold out here, and I know for a fact you don't so much as leave the house when it's even remotely chilly. I know you're in there!"

It was said like a true gentleman, of course, and despite what America would claim if you asked, I most certainly did not pepper my words with curse words. Definitely not.

And regardless of my methods, they were effective, and moments later America appeared in the doorway, looking as if he'd just rolled out of bed. (I'll choose not to comment on his completely mussed hair, his rumpled super-man pajamas and his crooked glasses; they're hardly relevant to the topic at hand.) However, when he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and finally really looked at me, his expression was so confused it was borderline comical.

"England? When'd you get here?" He started to ask, his semi-frequent yawns adding little to his conversational value.

I just rolled my eyes and pushed past him to get inside. "Took you long enough. Now, I understand it's rather late, but I'd much appreciate staying here for the night, at least. Given that you probably don't want to talk much right now, I'll let you go back to bed, but please note that I'll be joining you shortly."

I assure you it wasn't intended nearly as perversely as it sounded and was taken.

America blinked at me, once, twice, three times before finally opening his mouth. "Um. Sure. But, can you, I dunno, talk to me a _little_ bit first? I mean I don't even know why you're here, so…?"

"Don't be a prat, I'm just as tired as you, perhaps more so, considering I was just on a plane for six hours and had to deal with two airports, one of which had your ridiculous systems implemented," I said, and perhaps I was being just a bit short with him, but just a bit.

"Well gee, England, sorry that my airports had to crack down after people started getting violent against me and my people. Next time I'll make sure to completely ignore that, right?" America crossed his arms, something between a scowl and a pout on his face. He actually looked quite angry, which is a rare sight considering his normal temperament. "What do you want, England? First you tell me that I don't compare to your precious reading material, then you randomly show up and criticize the way I do things at four o' clock in the morning. I don't know what you're trying to do."

I stared at him a moment, doubtlessly frowning (perhaps even glowering; it's not as if I could see myself), before finally saying, in an exceedingly polite (if a bit curt) manner, "It's not as if I came out here just to apologize, love. However, Lord only knows what you'll do if you're angry with me and you have too much time to yourself. "

And alright, perhaps I could have responded with something a bit less condescending, but the git was asking for it by putting words in my mouth and completely ignoring that I'd come all this way just to see him. Not that I'd directly stated that, but… Blast it all, he was supposed to know me a bit better than that by now.

America scowled at me, looking unimpressed, then said, "Guest room's open."

I just stared at him for a moment before venturing a, "So I won't be sleeping with you, then?"

He looked almost scandalized, eyes wide open as if he was truly shocked that I'd ask. "Geez, England. We haven't even done anything yet, so why would you expect anything when I'm pissed at you?"

"Sleeping in your bed," I corrected, rolling my eyes at his childishness. "Don't be an idiot. Honestly, your mind's in the gutter if you honestly think I'd ask something like that out of the blue."

America flushed a light red—which then I assumed to be from embarrassment, not anger which it may well have been—and said, "Yeah, I really don't care. Just get your stuff, you know where the guest room is. You're sleeping there tonight." He paused then, as an afterthought added, "Unless you'd prefer the couch?"

"You're an arse," I muttered, grabbing my suitcases and heading down through the hallway. Before opening the door, though, I couldn't help but ask. "Say, America. Why _are_ you so angry with me? Surely I couldn't have been _that_ harsh."

He was quiet for a while, and then I heard a distinct, "Go to hell, England," before a door slammed.

* * *

Suffice to say, I did not do very well in smoothing over the argument that night. However, it must be noted that in the morning we were both in slightly better spirits, if just slightly.

"Morning," America greeted over his overheated coffee-cup. I wasn't entirely sure whether he was fidgeting because the coffee was far too hot—the steam more than suggested that—or because he was nervous. Either way, he hardly looked pleased to see me.

"Mm, good morning to you as well," I said as I sat down across from him. It was strange how long a distance could be created from such a short space. The table wasn't particularly long, and yet it was almost impossibly far.

"I never said it was a _good_ morning," America mumbled into his coffee mug, switching it from side to side. "So. Talking would be nice."

"We already are." I looked away, trying to politely diffuse the situation. "Lovely weather you're having for this time of year, isn't it?"

"Yeah, absolutely fantastic. Now tell me why you're here," he said before I could change the topic again. _Damn_.

"I told you last night. I want to…" I started, but had to pause mid-way. The word 'apologize' seemed caught in my throat, so instead I said, "Talk. We need to communicate better, of course. And I wanted to ensure that you wouldn't hang up on me again. That was quite rude."

And, alright, perhaps that wasn't the _best_ thing I could have said. But it was something, and something more than 'I'm angry at myself and you and wish you'd just apologize so I don't have to, even if I'm in the wrong'. As if I'd say something like that, _honestly_.

It wasn't exactly a surprise when America looked positively irate. It was more of a mildly irritated look for anyone else, but given that it took quite a bit for him to get angry in the first place, I suppose it counted as more of an extreme, simply because it was _him_.

"Right, because I'm the rude one," America said, sounding almost… sarcastic. That was right about when I realized this conversation was going nowhere fast—or at least nowhere _good_. "Look, if you can't even apologize, you're not gonna be here for much longer."

"You'd throw me out?"

"Um, yeah, actually. Excuse me if I don't want someone here that's just gonna insult me." America frowned—though it looked more like a pout. "Besides, if you hate me so much then why the hell are you going out with me?"

"I don't hate you, idiot," I snapped.

"See? You're doing it again!" America said, raising his voice ever-so-slightly. His grip on the coffee-cup tightened ever so slightly, and with his strength, any more and it would probably break. He didn't seem to notice.

"Doing what?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

"You just—_God_, can you stop calling me an idiot? I'd love if it you could go one day, just one day, without calling me that. Just one."

And now he looked rather upset; I tried my best to look indifferent but evidently it just made everything worse. America's face scrunched up, just a bit, and I couldn't help but feel just a bit guilty. I didn't aim to make him _cry_. Not that I thought he was going to—he had a bit more self-control than that, despite what some nations may think—but just the thought of it made my heart feel a bit heavy.

"I wasn't aware that I did it so often," I said, trying not to sound too stiff. "If it bothers you so much I'll do my best to tone it down…"

"I don't want you to tone it down, I want you to stop," he muttered, and it seemed that most of the energy from before had dissipated. He took a sip from his coffee-cup, not meeting my eyes. "And you still haven't apologized.

"What have I to apologize for, precisely? If I'm going to be sorry, and if I'm to make it up to you, you need to tell me precisely what I did wrong and how to avoid it in the future."

America gave me a long look. "I don't think I need to say. It should be obvious."

And oh, wasn't that just _perfect_ for further diffusing the situation. I'd have applauded him had my head been on the right way.

"Except that you're throwing yourself a pity party and when I try to apologize, you won't let me know what I'm apologizing for!" I shouted, slamming my hands down on the table.

He frowned at me—more of a pout this time—and finally set down his mug. "You wanna know? Fine." He took a deep breath, then, "I called you 'cause I wanted to spend time with you, but you basically told me that I wasn't worth near as much as your oh-so-precious books. Then when I tried to work with you a little, you were adamant on not going and you shut down my every attempt to reason with you on why I wanted to hang out." He paused, pout turning to an almost hurt expression again, then added, "Look, if you don't want to be in a relationship—"

I cut him off. "I do, but you aren't listening to me. I didn't want to go because, and perhaps it hasn't crossed your mind, but maybe I wanted to be fully prepared for an _actual_ date."

"You don't need to prepare—"

"Yes, I _do_—"

"No, you really don't, all I want is to have you around, is that too much to—"

"_SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME_!"

We said it at nearly the exact same time, but once the initial shock wore off, we were left staring at eachother across the table.

"Um, you first I guess," America said with an inconspicuous cough. He wiped the underside of his nose, evidently trying to look calm, cool and collected. The tears in his eyes hardly added to that appearance.

"R-Right," I said hastily, in an effort not to respark the argument. "What I'm trying to say is that I didn't want to go because the last date we went on went terribly, and I doubt we're ready for… for a Disney Land trip together. We should start with something simpler, something smaller. Besides, if it doesn't go well, it's not burning a hole in your pocket. That's-That's all."

I glanced up at him and made a light gesturing movement, trying to tell him that if he was going to say something, now would be the perfect time.

America stared at me a moment, then let out a nervous chuckle. "I don't care if it's Disney or just going out for coffee or something. I just—I miss you, y'know? We never get to see eachother, and… I mean, maybe I got a little overenthusiastic, but I really wanted this to go well. So, I mean, if I can't spend everything I have on you, if I can't impress you, what can I do?"

If that wasn't the sweetest—if a bit misguided—thing I'd ever heard him say, then I don't know what would be. And damn it all if I wouldn't show him that his feelings were mutual.

I leaned over across the table, and before he could properly comprehend what was happening, I grabbed him by the shirt collar and kissed him as hard as I dared.

I didn't feel even the tiniest hint of regret as that blasted coffee mug slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor, nor did I hesitate when finally, finally he seemed to realize that he was fully entitled to kissing back with just as much passion.

We stayed like that a while, just kissing and re-exploring all of the territory we'd neglected in our separation, somewhere along the way ending up on the couch. When we finally broke away, foreheads still touching, I reached up and pressed my lips, ever so gently, to his forehead.

"I do believe you're stuck with me, luv."

America just grinned and slipped his arms around my back. "Nah, stuck together's more like it. Hope you don't mind your stay, 'cause I don't plan on lettin' you leave anytime soon."

"How odd, I was thinking the exact same thing, but with you." I returned the smile, though it might've looked more like a smirk, and looped my arms just under his, to where I was holding him just as tight.

"Ah, jerk. I'm declaring independence." He laughed and, despite what must have been a squawk of indignance from me, mussed up my hair.

"Tosser," I said with a snort, before letting out a content sigh.

Because, regardless of any arguments we might've had, regardless of how awful we are at relationships, period, this was one apology I wouldn't mind making over and over and over again.

* * *

Merry Christmas, Nieki. This one's for you.


End file.
